It's Alright, in the End
by Death by Fallen Star
Summary: It hurts Enjolras, but he can't stay mad at Eponine. He can't manage to to feel much more than what he's professed, and being mad is trivial. So, in the end, it's all alright.


No matter how hard he would try, Enjolras would never remember, not really, all of the moments that had led up to this. He would remember Eponine coming to him crying, but then he would remember the first time he met Eponine and how he had always preferred her the way she preferred Marius. Then he would think about how he had been worried about the soon coming barricades, and how her sadness reminded him of his fears. But he would remember how she had, just a month or so from their first meeting, told him of her heart's desire. The the memory of their vulnerability mixing in a gentle heap, and how her hands had been so soft. There were too many memories, and not enough to keep his mind straight. Not enough to tell him how he ended up here, lingering above Eponine.

She was beautiful, he had always noticed. He had thought her stunning more often than he thought of anyone else. He was able to hide his affection with the dream of freedom, but it was still evident in his mind. Now though, as he hovered above her, her face glowing from the sweat that trickled down her brow, he never thought to see such beauty. She looked as he thought freedom to feel, delicate and new and almost untouchable, and when touched it burns a striking new emotion through veins until the body is fully alight with the feeling. This was Eponine, now, and how he would always see her.

Her body, so tiny at one point he thought he would break her, was intoxicating. The rough skin, the frail bones, the large dip of curves-she was delicate in his hands. She had not acted as so though, pressing herself as hard as she could to him and-oh, the memory of her trembling whisper as she asked him "_Please_,"-the echo made his body shiver.

She reached up to him, grabbing his jaw gently. She was shaking, her hands only settling when he grabbed one of her hands and pressed it gently. Her lips quivered, her eyes blinked more than he thought necessary, and they seemed to shine. She pulled him down, bringing his mouth to hers. This kiss was as the first had been, very scared and gentle, very soft and light. The air still rushed between their lips and he could feel all the nerves in her body shake. He didn't want to, because he knew this kiss was not for him, but for her to see what she felt. He pressed his lips harder, praying to every star in the sky that she would never pull away.

He was wrong though, for almost immediately Eponine pulled her mouth away from the kiss, breathing harder than was necessary and tears streaking her cheeks. He watched as her hands pulled away from his body and went to push her hair out of her face. He watched as her fingers swept away her tears and as her eyes stared out window in a lost despair. He still hovered above her, wishing to go back to just a minute ago.

Maybe if he told her, he reasoned. "Eponine-"

"I do not love you," she said in a rush, her gaze going back to him. Her eyes were wide, full of unsung tears and worry. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. Her arms crossed and twisted in front of her body, covering the very parts of her he praised. This was it, she had shut herself off from him.

Enjolras had the right to be upset, he had the right to be angry and sad and confused and blistering mad. He had the right, but he didn't. He had known from the first kiss that the idea of anything more was merely an image. He couldn't find the way to be mad at her. Beautiful, mislead Eponine had never promised more to him, and she had already promised herself to another, even if Marius did not acknowledge it.

"I know," was all he could manage. "I know you do not, it is alright." It was, in a sense. It was as alright as it could ever be at this point. He could not demand her to love him, he could not demand her to stop her heart. But he could not lie either, so he continued, "I love you though, Eponine. I love you as you do not love me, and yes it hurts me, but it's okay."

"I-I already love him so much I cannot just-"

He shook his head, he did not want to hear the excuses he already knew. He didn't want to think of her loving Marius as she still laid under him. He sighed, a long exhale that shook his body, and he wanted to stay above her, but he couldn't now. She had professed her lack of desire, and she would want to leave. He looked her in the eyes, and spoke once more.

"Just know, Eponine, I do love you. And perhaps when our country's revolution is over, and when you see Marius marry Cosette-" She openly flinched, as the words stung her he was sure. He would not lie about this though, he gained nothing but more pain if did. "It will happen, you must know. They will marry, and when it happens, perhaps when your pain has healed-"

"It would never heal," she said without a thought, as though the future had already been predetermined. She saw nothing but the edge of pain, and he knew she would never leap past it. So, he moved away from her. He got off the bed, and Eponine moved in a small flurry of grace out, and to her clothes. She dressed herself, and he stared out the window as she did. He would not intrude on her no more, for she did not want him. She would not accept his heart, as Marius did not accept hers. He smiled at the pain.

He could see her reflection, just barely, shine in the window. She stood at the door to leave, her hands wrapped around her petite waist, her head bowed to the ground. "I will tell the men you slept in the bed as I slept in the floor. They will not assume-I will not tell anyone; you have my word." He had no other words-he had said all the truth he could.

She spoke instead, "I'm sorry, Enjolras. I wish- perhaps I wish I could. But my heart- I bleed love for him. A thought of anyone else but his is solely comparison, and no one deserves that. You do not deserve that. I am sorry Enjolras." And like a gust of wind, she was gone.

**!&!**

He had suspected. He heard Cosette had left like the spring, and Marius was torn by the cold shreds of heartbreak. Marius had promised himself to the battle-he promised himself to France. He would search for Cosette as a revolutionary, when they had won. Enjolras had never felt more pride.

The men around him were prepared, they would fight the good fight-they would win this revolution. He was determined, the barricades would be strong. He had only one unrelated worry-and that was for none of his men.

Eponine had rushed by him, in a swirl of strong tears and an armful of bandages. She looked to be fine, her entire family looked to be fine. She had no need for that many bandages-except.

He knew. He suspected, it was only logical. In the few moments he could spare, he went to where she lived. Storming up the stairs and slamming the door open, a worried anger pumping his blood. He looked in the room, and saw her, sitting on the ground with eyes full of fear. She was covered, wearing trousers and her breasts being bound by the bandages. She was disguising herself.

"No," he stated clearly. She would not do this. She would not risk her life just for Marius- she could not.

"I want to fight in _your_ revolution Enjolras," she said in a fearful voice. "Let me-another set of hands to help. I can help, I can load a gun, I can-!" She continued binding herself.

"_No_," he said once more. He walked over to her, pulling her to standing. "You will unbind your breasts and you will hide as the women have been told to do." He grabbed the wrap from her hand, but she snatched it back.

"I will not! I have no children- I have no reason to hide!" She wound it around her practically see-through skin in defiance. "I am another man to your fight Enjolras! I want to fight for France! I-!"

"_You_ want to fight for Marius!" Enjolras stormed. "Your affection for France is only so that you can fight alongside Marius and I will not stand for it! I will not let you risk your life simply for a crush who sees no love in you!"

Tears bridged her eyes, and he regretted his anger. She pressed her back against the wall, sliding to sit. She covered her face with her hands and mumbled, "You have no right."

He crouched in front of her, at a loss for words. For days he had done nothing but give speeches of motivation and freedom, and now he could not give her any words to stop the tears he had made.

"Eponine," but he could not say he was sorry, for he spoke honesty. So instead he reminded her, "I love you- the idea of you dying hurts me more than you could think. The idea of you-you can not fathom."

She lifted her head, her gaze a silent anger he would never shake. "But I can-you forget why I cannot love you? I love Marius, and if I see him die-if he dies at this barricade, I will not be able to live knowing I did nothing to prevent it. Don't you see?"

And he did, he saw. He saw her broken heart behind the bandages. He felt his own, for like her, he had no hope.

So, in a silent still air, he left.

**!&!**

He saw the blood of many, he saw the injured soul and body, he saw many horrific things this night. None more so, than the gunfire that hit Eponine.

He hadn't forgotten his love for Eponine in the midst of this fight, he hadn't let his love of freedom overtake him and forget the argument that just occurred-what felt like-moments ago. She didn't just blur into the sea of revolutionaries, she still stood out, so obvious to him. But he had no time to worry just for her. There were men relying on him to light the way. She, herself, and his love for her could not cause such a distraction-that was no way to lead an army. He still watched for her, but there were men to direct and guns to shoot and barricades to maintain-there was no time to worry solely for her. So he focused on this war, focused every moment he could, he would not fail his men.

Then, the moment they came closer, when it looked as though they to fail, he saw in the corner of his eye Marius and a man going to shoot him. He wanted to scream, but suddenly time slowed and he watched as Eponine grabbed the barrel of the gun and pull it towards her, watched the man pull the trigger, watched her body shake and fall, watched the blood start to stain her shirt.

His voice evaporated-he forgot his vocabulary and what he was doing. He watched her sit, holding her side in a daze. She had been shot, and the blood soaked so quickly nothing would stop it. His heart gave up-he thought he had been shot too.

Men were yelling around him and Marius was doing something-but Eponine sat at the bottom of the barricade, staring at the blood on her hands. She was dying-she knew it too. He watched as the realization dawned on her. She accepted it so quickly, he felt sick.

He went to approach her, to tell her to fight, to pray her wound was not real. But she caught his gaze, and tears flickered down her eyes as the rain started to fall. She gave him two small words that crashed into his soul.

"I'm sorry."

He stopped. She was sorry. Sorry for not loving him. Sorry that he loved her. Sorry that she was to die, here and now. Sorry that even now, she still loved Marius.

Seconds. Small, small seconds had trickled between them. He nodded his head, to say, "It's okay," because it was. He could not condemn her-he could not even try. He walked past her, up the barricade, and grabbed from Marius the torch and explosives. Marius couldn't fight now-Eponine was dying and she wanted him. He would see no discomfort in her death.

He helped get the guns and the powder inside, worried as the rest that it would ruin. Eponine may have been dying, but he would not let her sacrifice go to waste. He went to look to see if she had passed, and saw Marius as he coddled her, telling her she would live. The rain poured now, dripping across the scene and washing the blood from her hands. Marius held her and she looked so happy. Enjolras thought to feel jealousy, but he couldn't manage it. Marius loved Eponine, but not the way she him or Enjolras her.

One moment, one tiny insignificant moment her gaze barely shifted to him. He looked away though, for the tears he let escape mixed with the rain on his face.

Then, in a small whisper of breath, she was gone.

**!&!**

There was a line of bodies, not that long, but he guessed that from the other barricades, together the line would be unbearable to look at. Many of his friends lay side by side, and Eponine lay at the very end. They took away her hat, let her hair out and covered her wounds. Who ever laid her down was nice, and he wondered if someone else had loved her.

He crouched, standing above her and peering down at her face. She looked asleep, or how he guessed she slept. He had never seen her sleep, and that thought finally erupted a sob from his heart. A quiet sob, he did not want attention drawn to this room. He wanted to be alone, with her and all these bodies, so he kept his sob quiet, to himself.

Words trickled through his mind. The words he wanted to say to her. That he loved her, he loved her still. That he loved her till her last breath, and then with every breath he took. That he was not mad at her-he understood her heart. But that still he wished she would have tried, but that he wasn't mad. That the night they spent together was as sweet as the idea of revolution in victory. That he missed her so his soul quivered with every thought he dedicated to her-and oh there were so many. That loving her deemed impossible, but he still did. He loved her now. He missed her now. He wished to kiss her again.

But he spoke no words to her corpse, he merely let tears drip to her skin, stain her. He did not touch her beyond that, preferring the memory. If he didn't touch her dead, it could be apart of her still alive.

Courfeyrac entered, saying, "What are you doing, Enjolras?" His back was to the boy.

Enjolras was glad his tears were silent. He wiped them before standing and said, "Seeing our fallen brethren; letting them know they're sacrifice will not be forgotten." He took one last glance at Eponine, before turning to his friend.

They left, like small breezes before a storm.

**!&!**

The act of "life" passing before ones eyes is accountable. It's like you relive every single moment in such a slow fashion, old memories you thought you forgot are revived and it's all very haunting.

As the bullets hurdle towards Enjolras, he sees the moment he is born, the days he spent as a child, the days he realized his passion for freedom, the days he spent with his friends, the days he spent with Eponine, the war leading up to this moment, the cheers they had foolishly given to soon. He saw it all, and so, when the bullet struck him, death wasn't that hard to imagine.

He falls out the window, still clutching the flag of freedom. Still begging for this revolution to succeed. He is dead within a second, but just before then, as his eyes start to close for good, in the house where the bodies lie, he can just see Eponine's still form.

It would be alright. New men would win this war, and Eponine could maybe love him in a new life-where they are both free.

Then, like a silent sigh of relief-Enjolras is gone.


End file.
